


Coming Home

by a_xmasmurder



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Dragons, Gen, Leveling feels like this, coming home, flight rising - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironwine and his battle group come home after a day of defeating things in the Training Grounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lestradesexwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/gifts), [pangodillO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangodillO/gifts), [dee-light (DraloreShimare)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraloreShimare/gifts), [moonblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/gifts).



> I've only got Lex and PangodillO to blame for this. Well, Dee, too. I blame you all for getting a serial fic-writer into a game with _dragons_. *sigh*
> 
> Anyway, here's the thing, enjoy, and I'm going to go hide under a rock because I AM SHIPPING MY OWN FUCKING DRAGONS STOP THE MADNESS.

The last droplets of sun glint off the mighty spires of his ancestral home as Ironwine arcs in for a landing on the rocky outcrop of his lair. Battles have been won today, and he feels his power - power he shall soon wield in the name of the Arcanist - thrumming though his muscles, through his veins. His strength has more than doubled today, and will continue to grow as he takes his lairmates out for more skirmishes against the creatures of the Realm. He turns his face to the dying light and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth. This high in the great reaches of the mountains, the nights are cold. If you look close enough, you can see the home of their great patron, but usually the light from his observatory is lost in the swirling mists of magicks and ethereal glows of the energy that inhabits these lands. Behind him, Crowell and Winterhawk alight on the crag, whooping their victory into the biting winds. Ironwine smiles, beatific in the face of such young joy. He’s not that old himself, but he’s already sired a brood of young - until Crowell has sired and Winterhawk has mothered, they will be youth to him.

“Ah, the great Ironwine returns!”

Ironwine looks up and his smile turns softer still. In the opening to his lair stands the fae beauty that stole his heart the moment he stepped foot in the Crystalpine Reaches. Mossy steps out into the wind, her wings fluttering as she neared him. “I have, my love. And how were they today?” He speaks of the three little ones, hatchlings mere hours old.

“A clan-leader asked after the second hatched.” Mossy looks off into the distance. “He’s going to grow up in the Wispwillow Grove.”

“The dark realm of The Shadowbinder.” Ironwine nods. “I wish him well, darling. But I fear for those who enter her lands.”

“As we all do.” Sebby stands in the darkness of the cave opening, her violet eyes flashing in the dying light of the sun and the flickering torches at the entrance. “But we all start somewhere.”

“This is true.” Ironwine brushes his heavy head against Mossy’s flank. “As I said, I wish him well.”

Winterhawk stretches her wings wide. “I’m starving!”

“Of course you are.” Mossy jerks her head. “We have restocked our stores. Do save the reedhoppers for Festival’s end, please?”

“Awwww!”

Ironwine folds himself into a more managable shape to wedge himself past Sebby. Since the second Guardian to join their burgeoning lair grew up, it seems this place isn’t quite as large as it was when he found it. Sebby, for her part, did attempt to move closer to the cool walls. “Such a large family already, Ironwine. We may have to move soon.”

Ironwine glances at her. “Or I’ll put you to work moving rocks so we can have more room here.” The words are in jest, and the Shadow Guardian laughs, her voice filling the cavern with beautiful music.

“I’ll do my best. I should think Rubywing will volunteer, yes? He’s been itching to do things since he grew into his wings.”

Ironwine tilts his head in assent. “Make it so, and I will give you two your own nesting grounds.” Her soft intake of breath lets him know his words have hit the mark. “Ah, so the rumors have truth to them?”

Sebby turns her massive body, and Ironwine follows her gaze. His eyes fall on the younger Shadow Guardian playing with the two newest members of the clan. The pale youth’s laughter rumbles under the high notes of the babies’ squeals and shrieks as he continues to pull gold treasure out from behind earholes and wingflaps. “You can’t help but wonder if he’ll be a nurturing father, can you?”

“Or he’s far too close to being a baby himself.” Ironwine smirks, and Rubywing raises his head on a grunt.

“Oi! I heard that!” The babies follow Rubywing’s line of sight and screech in delight when they spot their father. They tumble and trip and waddle their way out of the nesting furs and grasses, and Ironwine moves quickly away from the cave entrance so they wouldn’t accidentally go over the edge before they are ready. Rubywing comes with them, herding the tiny bundles of wings and left feet along with his curled wingtips. “Come now, come now. Don’t be hasty, and don’t bite. Everyone has a turn with Papa.”

Ironwine, in his wisdom, mentally takes back the snarky comment. As the little ones scrabble and climb up his legs, he looks at Rubywing and sees a father. He will give Sebby and Rubywing that nest.

Rubywing finally pulls the babies away, and Ironwine can inspect his home. He looks into his lair, upon each of his lairmates. Eoin and Skylark lay near the darkest corner, listening to Stephanie (whom he’d taken out earlier in the day) talk about the battles she’d fought alongside Sebby. Wake and Winterhawk tear into tonight’s dinner, snatching up insects attempting escape and swallowing slabs of meat. At their sides were the true youth, Darkwing and Quake...and one he does not recognize.

Mossy is at his side. “Did I forget to mention we got a little boy in exchange? His name is Bucky, and he’s a quiet soul. Quite content to watch Quake and Wake eat their fill.”

“Another Guardian,” Ironwine muses. “We might need a bigger home after all.”

“What we have here is plenty enough, my dear. Now come, you must be hungry.”

“Ah, I am. Much. Thank you.” He lays a kiss on her brow, and she sighs softly. Ironwine starts forward, then pauses. Something is missing. He turns.

Crowell is sitting on the edge of the crag, body curled like the strange bread-like shapes shown in ancient hieroglyphics of the creatures the humans that inhabited their world ages ago call ‘felines’. Waving Mossy off, he steps back out of the cave. The sun is gone behind the peaks of the Reaches now, and the air is cooling at a rapid rate. Soon, frost will creep on the rocks, and the little ones will be bedding down for the night. Ironwine drops his heavy body next to Crowell. “All is well, friend?”

“Perhaps.” Crowell has always been more distant and quiet, save for his propensity for singing or shouting in excitement. “I feel something in the air.”

Ironwine knows well to listen to Crowell on matters of the wind. He is, after all, a former disciple of The Windsinger and can read the ever-changing wisps and turn the very air around him into a weapon when he gets strong enough. “More than our ever-present magicks?” It’s still a mystery to him, this energy around him, but he’s chosen this spot and come Darkness or Death he will defend against all comers.

“More than that.” Crowell stands, small against Ironwine’s bulk. Small crackles of energy snap around him. “I fear something may be coming.”

“They will rue the day they come near my lair,” Ironwine growls.

“As they will if they near mine as well.”

“Come, eat before you settle for the night, friend. You are as welcome here as anyone, despite your...sappiness everywhere.”

Crowell cracks the first smile. “It’s too blasted hot in that lair, and you know it. And Mossy likes her sap roosts too.”

“Mossy keeps it outside,” Ironwine grins. “And if she hears a peep of me complaining about her sap weaving, I’m a dead dragon.”

**  
**  



End file.
